


No Good Deed

by IneffableAlien



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eye Trauma, Gaslighting, Historical mental illness treatments, Humiliation, Hurt Elias Bouchard, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Medical Torture, POV Elias Bouchard, Past Sexual Abuse, Pining, Psychological Torture, Sounding, Speculums, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Victim Blaming, bimbofied Elias, breaking Elias Bouchard, drugged Elias, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26944378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Elias had never planned on leaving his tower.  He had all the nightmares he needed, the complete lack of privacy he craved, and it would have been perfection if only his Archive were at his side.  All that mattered, though, was that the Archive was coming to him, and so Elias waited, smitten and pining in ways only a hateful monster could be.  But then, just as Elias thought that they were getting close,he stopped Seeing Jon.And that was no nightmare—that justhurt.Elias has tracked Jon's path from Upton House as far as St. Bleeding's Centre for Wellbeing.He has made a terrible mistake.
Relationships: Doctor David/Elias Bouchard, Doctor Jane Doe & Doctor David, Doctor Jane Doe & Elias Bouchard, Elias Bouchard/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 47
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some things I can tell you about this story:
> 
>   1. It is one of my favorite things I've ever written.
>   2. I have been told that it's an emotional read whether you love or hate Elias.
>   3. **Chapter 3 is the major gore and non-con, and it is very detailed.**
>   4. I may have cried a little while writing chapter 4.
> 

> 
> Enjoy.

“Would it help if I told you we were actually starting to get a bit closer to London? Well,” Jon said with a wince, “what _was_ ‘London.’”

Martin gaped. “Actually, yes,” he said. “That does help a bit. How many more?”

“Depends on, uh …

“A few, at least.”

What it depended on was Elias.

Jon understood the non-Euclidean geometry of the post-Change world, but he could only try to explain it so many times, especially when to search for the right words would ultimately get him labeled “ominous” or evasive when he was trying to be anything but. Martin at least understood by this point that they weren’t traveling by kilometers. Jon didn’t feel it was necessary to elucidate that what they _were_ traveling by was more like … states of mind.

The journey would be the journey, indeed.

This had never been more apparent than when they had picked up Basira.

_“We can’t hunt a monster you refuse to see.”_

He’d meant it literally. Because there would _be_ no path to hunt Daisy, not until Basira’s fear and pain carved one.

Similarly, there would be no path to the Panopticon until its beating heart, Elias, was back on his throne. But Martin never would have accepted knowing that Elias was currently out in the world with them; Martin would have been convinced that they could turn around in that case, track Elias on foot, find him in the hellscape of the ruined world.

Elias had never planned on leaving his tower. He had all the nightmares he needed, the complete lack of privacy he craved, and it would have been perfection if only his Archive were at his side. All that mattered, though, was that the Archive was coming to him, and so Elias waited, smitten and pining in ways only a hateful monster could be. But then, just as Elias thought that they were getting close, _he stopped Seeing Jon._ And that was no nightmare—that just _hurt._

Elias was feeling things, things he did not like but still somehow did not want to give up. He had never had a problem giving up his humanity to the power of The Eye. Now, he wanted to keep some kind of emotion, keep it close to his chest, and it was horrible. Was this _concern,_ was he concerned about Jon? That was ridiculous. Jon was the harbinger. If Elias was ruler of this world, then Jon was its god. Jon hardly needed Elias’s protection, and besides, Elias protected no one but himself.

He thought about this until he came to a reasoning that made sense to him, and it was this: it was simply maddening for Elias to be such a great acolyte of The Eye and find himself denied knowledge. That was all this fascination was.

That was the only thing that drove him from his tower.

That was why he needed to find Jon.

Nothing more.

Elias had wandered (and this was fine, he was not panicking or run ragged, he could call off the search and return to his tower any time), for how long he did not know, after following the route where he had last Seen Jon, and when Jon passed over that threshold of Mikaele’s oasis, it slammed into Elias like a ton of bricks. Like the weight of a thousand eyes.

Jon instantly Saw Elias then, although it had not even occurred to him yet to consciously think about him. Jon had given up any hope of sensing Elias before reaching London, but Elias was just being so damn loud. And in that moment, Jon Knew.

He had come looking for Jon—not Looking, but _looking,_ like a human, or a loyal hound. And Jon Saw into what might have been the heart of Elias, once.

Tipping his expression away from Martin, Jon smiled smugly. _Didn’t you once tell me,_ Jon thought (and the ease with which he made the smart remark should have made him bristle, how it felt as though they had chatted only yesterday), _that it was_ you _who called_ me?

Even in Jon’s mind, the reply was clearly petulant: _You. **Left.** Me._

And just like that, Elias closed the connection, shuttering himself like he did not care to speak to Jon at all, and Jon had the grace to let it be. He would not secretly talk to Elias with Martin standing _right_ there, that was weird, right? Was there some kind of relationship rule about that, about indulging the psychic connection between your traitorous narcissistic eldritch ex-boss maker and you without telling your boyfriend? And anyway, there was no sense rubbing in whatever the hell that was when they were certain to find him eventually.

The journey would be the journey.

_Oh, no,_ Jon thought, keeping the thought to his own mind out of respect. He had not meant to Know, it was an accident. Now he was surprised to feel sick to his stomach. _Don’t go that way. Surely you of all things can go around the hospital._

Elias was not about to show fear to The Stranger, of all Entities, by going around St. Bleeding’s.

He had Watched Jon and Martin pass through here, so he figured (dream logic) there was a good chance that he would reach their destination quicker by passing the same traumas they had. Furthermore, he was an avatar of The Eye. He had Seen Jon’s power. He himself was a king, he had survived the failed Watcher’s Crown. There was no way he was in any danger here.

Or so he thought until he stepped inside, and immediately lost Sight of the exit. He stumbled, hissing as a light the color of migraines flashed before the most important of his eyes.

St. Bleeding’s was not hidden from The Eye, of course, not like Upton House. The newer monsters residing in it had even adjusted to Beholding’s rule well, as they took pride in their anti-work and liked to see its horrors appreciated.

But Elias had never gotten on with The Stranger, and as for his own patron … well. Sometimes, temporarily turning a blind eye, so to speak, could yield even more interesting results than Watching.

“Greetings, yes, salutations, and what a pleasure it is!” trilled a searingly cheerful voice. “To see observed twice all the suffering we inflict, and all in the same—whatever-time-of-day-it-is!”

Elias was swaying on his feet. “What?” he gritted out. He was adjusting somewhat, but the florescent light which was more than just light was still paining him. He could see, but everything seemed just a tad off in its sheen and dimensions.

_Damn The Stranger,_ he thought bitterly.

“I’m Dr. Doe, Jane,” the same gleeful voice continued, accented with the sound of something like giant rusty scissors— oh. Elias looked up. Not “something like” giant rusty scissors, just literally giant rusty scissors. “Are you lost from your little team, Inspector?”

Charming.

The scissors weren’t in place of where her hands would be. She had hands (sort of). They were growing from places where you might want other hands. Elias suppressed a shiver and swallowed a scream with practice borne of centuries. He straightened up to his full 5’7”, and tried his level best to seem imposing in the shadow of the ceiling-high monstress that was made up of organs and other bits laced together with barbed wire.

To be fair, Elias could be a fairly impressive abomination himself when he put his mind to it. But he just felt so weak and confused all of a sudden, in this domain. “If anything, Doctor,” he managed to sound professional, “my team has been lost from _me_ for quite some time. Thank you for the warm welcome, but if it’s all the same to you, I believe I best be on my way to retrieve them.” He brushed a spot of imaginary dust from his shoulder.

Dr. Doe’s … face? fell? It hurt Elias to look too hard at it, to try to make sense of it. That was the sort of thing The Stranger had in common with The Spiral. Incidentally, those two were given to hating each other just as often as working together. One could never be positive when they were acting as allies, since once was Unknowable, and the other Lied. “Oh, Inspector,” Dr. Doe said gravely, “you must walk with me, or I will be most _insulted.”_

Elias froze. He was at an impasse then. He didn’t really want to test the extent of his healing abilities, not when he was already finding it difficult to See. Never a good sign. On the other hand, following the “doctor” deeper into this hospital did not feel like the wisest play on the chessboard, either. He realized his heart was pounding in his chest, and he resented Dr. Doe for it. But before he could open his mouth to formulate an answer, Dr. Doe spoke again.

“Wait,” she said darkly, and Elias felt a chill as if the temperature of the room had been plunged many degrees. “I know who you are— _Inspector.”_

Elias sucked in his lower lip and tried to appear oblivious to the shift around him. “Ah, I’d say you are mistaken, Doctor,” Elias said smoothly. “I would recall such a gruesome creature as yourself.”

“Don’t try to flatter me,” Dr. Doe snapped. _“Magnus.”_

Elias grimaced, not at his name, but because the recognition meant nothing good. She had made the word drip with disgust from behind her bloodstained medical mask. “If you wish,” he offered crisply.

Dr. Doe barked out a laugh like un-oiled gears grinding, and the sound in Elias’s ears made him swing his head to one side with a shudder. “Should I call you ‘Professor’ then, of your nasty Institute?” Her tone was sneering. “You know,” she said, not waiting for a reply, “you could have served _us_ well. You and your … faces, yes?”

It was on the tip of Elias’s tongue to throw back his disdain at the insinuation that he would ever serve The Stranger, but he bit back the words just in time. “Now, now, Doctor,” he said with a fake grin, “you have shown yourself capable of being more than hospitable to other servants of The Eye passing through your domain.”

“The most powerful of them, yes,” spat Dr. Doe. “And he still showed respect! And even made a delightful report on his inspection!” She shifted closer, and the smell of rotten meat drove Elias back. “You, on the other hand”—and here Elias thought her eyes seemed to glow red— _ **“sent your little toy soldiers in to ruin the Unknowing.”**_

Elias scoffed. “Is that what this is about? I have news for you, _Doctor,_ the Unknowing wouldn’t even have wo—”

Elias heard a crack against the back of his skull, accompanied by red flowers bursting on a field of black before his eyes, and then there was nothing.

Somewhere, Jon tripped over nothing. Martin caught him, before he could land flat on his face.

“Strange you didn’t ‘know’ that rock was there, eh?” Martin teased fondly.

_“‘Strange,’”_ Jon said distantly, unnerved by an inexplicable sense of wrongness. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Elias awoke to a voice too close to his ear, and the stink of decay along with it.

“What a joy!” exclaimed Dr. Doe, unfolding her spine and clapping her hands together once. “We’ve never admitted an avatar before! And humans do lose wellbeing so quickly, it hardly a challenge to our staff!”

Oddly, in his mental haze, the first thought to settle on Elias was that Dr. Doe’s way with words was incredibly irritating. None of it was blatantly grammatically incorrect per se; it was all just slightly off enough to make him wonder if he hadn’t misheard. “‘It _is_ hardly a challenge,’” he corrected reflexively, turning his head and immediately dropping it on the steel table when he found he was unable to hold it up.

“I’m so glad you agree!” said Dr. Doe brightly.

As Elias became more aware of his body, he realized that just about everywhere was a deep, dull agony wrenching way down to his bones. In spite of that pain, he tried to swing himself up on the table and found that he was restrained by a leather chest harness that held his upper arms to his sides, and two more straps around his ankles, which were spread. He was naked, of course. “This is all a bit unoriginal, don’t you think, Doctor?” he managed to snark sleepily. He wondered if he was drugged, or just concussed.

Dr. Doe’s eyes flashed furiously, and her mask stretched horizontally to accommodate her frown growing off her face. “We do aim to displease,” she said tightly. Dr. Doe reached for Elias’s harness and unbuckled the arm belts, only to whip them taut and refasten them. Elias cried out, discovering that the cuffs were lined with something razor-sharp. “I hope you don’t mind,” Dr. Doe chirped, “we’re all out of single-use scalpel blades. But one of our orderlies found some old hobby knives, that should do just fine!”

Elias grunted, feeling the blood bubbling to the surface of his skin under the leather. His biceps throbbed with sickening heat that made his forehead sweat in response. He felt stupid and slow. God, everything hurt, especially his chest. Elias started to gesture with his hand as he began to speak, cursing under his breath when his brain made the connection too late that the movement jostled the blades embedded in his flesh. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to remain still. **“Why can’t I See?”** he slurred.

Dr. Doe crossed her arms and tapped her sensible patent leather kitten heels. They were stuffed with the tangles of metal and rust that served as her feet. “There will be none of that,” she said, sounding more disappointed than angry. “It seems like The Eye has Forsaken you.” Dr. Doe leaned in and raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Oh, come on,” she said, when Elias remained silent, “that was a good one! You killed your husband, didn’t you?”

“How did you …” Elias growled, jiggling his ankle restraints experimentally. He stopped immediately, feeling blade on bone.

Dr. Doe winked. “Oh, you know how nurses love gossip!” she said. She shrugged, dropping the subject. Then she sighed, and pulled up a chair to sit at Elias’s bedside. She tenderly settled one rubbery hand, with give like a rotten orange, across Elias’s face, and he swallowed, finding the gentle action far more horrifying than any pain.

Elias tilted his chin back, a little gasp escaping him when he was shown that with his human eyes covered … he had no vision at all.

“I’m afraid you’ve been diagnosed with a severe case of eyes,” Dr. Doe said. “But!” she chirped. “Triage did a terrible job, yes?”

 _“What have you done?”_ Elias panted. He was shaking. He wasn’t entirely sure from which emotion.

Dr. Doe patted Elias’s cheek, then withdrew her hand and sat back. “Don’t fret, you haven’t missed a thing,” she said. She sounded almost matronly. “We wouldn’t start surgery without you!”

Elias stared at her, eyes wide, and gave a little head shake to denote his complete lack of understanding. He was ashamed to whine when she cupped the back of his head with her enormous palm and scooped him forward to finally peer down at his body on the table. All over his form appeared jagged scraps of junk metal, only about three by four inches or so. They seeped viscera and rapidly drying blood, to be rewetted by a constant stream of more.

“Rivets,” he whispered.

Dr. Doe hummed. “We did as much as we had to while you took your little nap,” she said, “but we’ll rip out that temporary solution and fix you up proper soon enough!”

“You,” Elias raged impotently, “you vile …”

“I know, I know,” said Dr. Doe sympathetically. “That’s why you’re feeling sluggish, you can’t Know clearly. But soon you’ll hardly have to Know anything at all!” she promised.

A ghost of a hope flickered across Elias’s face. “He’ll come back, you know,” he warned her. He started babbling manically. “He knows what I am to him, even if he’s not ready to admit it, and more than that, he’s managed to stay _far_ too human, to leave me like this, he’ll—”

Dr. Doe laughed, more genuinely than Elias had heard before but just as ear-grating. “Oh, Magnus,” she giggled—“humans don’t save monsters.”

Elias flung himself up, ignoring the slicing from his restraints. _“Fuck you,”_ he snarled.

Dr. Doe stood, one hand fluttering to her chest as though she was clutching at pearls. “Language!” she admonished in offense. She spit in Elias’s face before flipping out the lights and leaving him alone, and whatever burning substance passed for her saliva left him truly in the dark.

Elias didn’t know how long he was in that room, but between his injuries (which didn’t seem to be healing at all, without any Sight), and, he had theorized, a sort of venom from Dr. Doe, he must have passed out again at some point. He burst into consciousness painfully as his face was pounded with a hard stream of freezing cold water.

Elias started to thrash, only to find that he was spread eagle and being held firmly to the floor by all four limbs. When he tried to shout, he took another bucketful of water to the face, all the way down his throat, the _wrong_ way, filling his lungs, and oh god it hurt, it hurt and he was drowning _and he didn’t want to drown—_

Blessedly dissociating for a moment, Elias wondered why he heard such cheery music.

“Thank you, orderlies, that will do it, I believe,” came a familiar, silky voice.

Elias rolled over the instant he was released, and he was vaguely aware of the sounds of people shuffling around and out of the room. He heaved and vomited up water, and because he was on his side, he choked on it as soon as it came back up, feeling fire in his nostrils. He started to scramble onto his hands and knees, but a swift kick to his ribs kept him down in a ball. Whoever had assaulted him left with the others, and he shook with a sob.

Someone was walking over to him. Someone nudged him with their foot precisely where he had been struck, someone wearing fine dress shoes, and Elias whimpered at the contact. Hadn’t he worn shoes like that once?

“Good god, man,” said the voice, appalled. “I know it’s near impossible for someone like you, but do try to have a shred of self-respect.”

Elias curled up to sitting, stifling a shout when he became aware all over again of the sharp metal plates screwed into his body. He blinked down at himself. Why did he have metal plates screwed into him? Oh, god, what was wrong with him?

“I forgot what I was dealing with,” said the man standing over Elias, “so I failed to make myself clear enough.” Elias shuffled backwards with fear, and the man spoke as if he were addressing a child. “Come on,” he said briskly, “up you get.”

Elias was trembling so hard he could hardly stand, but he made it to his feet. He was still naked, and he defensively reached across himself to the opposite arm. He yelped, dropping it when he felt the string of razor slices encircling the meat of it. Why was he injured? Where was he?

Who was he?

“Dear lord, it just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?” the man drawled. He clucked his tongue, then took a paper hospital gown off of the counter and held it out to Elias.

Elias stared dumbly, his lips parted.

“Well?” the man said. Elias dropped his chin and took a step back, the man’s impatient tone hurting more than any blow. The man gave the gown half a shake. “Put it on!”

Elias took the gown, holding it out like something precious, then slipped it on. He shivered. He was still thoroughly soaked.

“Much better,” the man purred, and Elias blushed. The man motioned up and down at Elias’s body, more or less visible anyway through the paper. “Of course we _all_ know about your … proclivities, but I think you can force yourself to stay covered at least until I’m done checking in on you, hm?” The man picked up an upside down clipboard on a chair and sat, then swept his arm at another chair facing his. Elias realized that whoever had been dumping water on his face (and he strongly suspected present company) must have done so standing on that chair, and he shuddered before he sat on it.

“I’m sorry,” Elias mumbled anxiously. He didn’t know what he was apologizing for.

“Hm? For what?” the man prompted, taking a pen from the clipboard.

“I, I don’t know,” Elias confessed. “Am I supposed to know where I am?”

The man scratched his temple with the pen and groaned. “Not this again,” he said. “Tell me, what do you think your name is _today?”_

Elias concentrated _very_ hard. “Jonah,” he said. Dragging out the name. Testing it.

The man tapped his chin with the pen and looked down at the clipboard. “Try Elias,” he said, annoyed. Elias didn’t like making him sound like that. He didn’t want to be annoying. “And who do you think I am?”

“Oh— _oh!”_ said Elias, tears rushing to his eyes, proud to know this one—“Jon … _Jon!_ I, I told them, I told them you would come, I—”

 _“Jon?”_ the man said back, lip curling. He gave a long, put-upon sigh. “I am Dr. David,” he said. “We have been working together for a while now. So I would appreciate if you put forth a little effort into your treatment.” Dr. David started to click his pen continuously, and the sound put Elias on edge. “I’ll help you,” Dr. David said pityingly, “yet _again._ It wouldn’t be ethical of me to expect much from you.” He paused.

“You are at St. Bleeding’s Centre for Wellbeing,” Dr. David said. “This is their behavioral ward.” Dr. David flipped through some pages on the clipboard. “You are scheduled for surgery coming up. I have been asked to help you overcome your …” His eyes scanned the page. _“‘Fear of hospitals.’_ Huh.” He snorted. “Kind of stereotypical, don’t you think?”

 _No, no, that’s wrong,_ thought Elias, wading knee-deep through his addled mind, _he’s ly—Lying! He’s_ Lying, _he’s—_

If Elias had been in the domain of The Spiral, it would have been a fair fight. Even with his metaphysical eyes blindfolded, he was sharp (and still of The Eye, no matter what Dr. Doe tried to tell him), so he could have found the insight to See that he was up against losing his mind.

Being blindsided by an avatar of The Spiral _inside_ the blinding realm of The Stranger, on the other hand …

Dr. David flashed a smile. Elias didn’t understand how someone with such handsome features had such an ugly smile. Looking at it made his eyes water. “I myself usually work out of a small residential mental health facility,” Dr. David continued, “but I am here on a personal favor to an old friend. And besides”—Dr. David’s grin seemed to have too many teeth—“the chance to work with such an _infamous_ patient was just too psychologically interesting to pass up.”

“‘Infamous’?” Elias repeated nervously.

“Mm,” said Dr. David, flipping back through the chart. “Narcissistic, schizotypal, delusions of grandeur …” Dr. David focused on something, and he frowned. “Well. It says here you invented quite a dramatic narrative of sexual abuse.” Dr. David set the clipboard down on his lap. “Now tell me, Jonah,” he said, “how on earth am I supposed to help someone who would lie about something like that?”

Elias felt like he couldn’t breathe. (Did he have to breathe? Was he human? Was it a delusion to think he might not be human?) “No, that—no. I did not lie.” He wouldn’t cry, he was _not_ about to cry. Then: “Jonah … ?” Elias checked to see if he had heard properly.

“Hm? No,” said Dr. David, apathetic, “I’m sure I called you James. Come on, James,” he said, “you’re no _stranger_ to treatment. You know pointing fingers at innocent men won’t get you anywhere.”

 _He’s right, though,_ thought Jonah. Everything was too—it was fuzzy. He remembered what “help” was like, though. Shackles and sleeping on straw, why did it feel like centuries ago? James didn’t want help, he wanted to go home, what did he have to say to go home … ?

 _That nothing happened,_ he remembered. _Just do what they say and say that nothing bad happened and then you can go home._

“Please,” Elias—Jonah—said softly. “I just want to go home. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dr. David smiled coldly. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

Elias wanted a fresh gown. He wasn’t even holding out for clean clothes, just a gown that wasn’t ripped and scratchy and streaked with blood and ejaculate. That was all.

He would have demanded a lot more, if only he could hold onto the knowledge of how powerful he was with direct access to Beholding. But the memory of who and what he was outside of this place only ever came in flashes—that was all.

“Ah, hello there!” said Dr. David in an upbeat way, swinging the door to Elias’s padded room shut behind him. Elias’s head shot up and he stopped gnawing on his fingernails, a habit that had been beaten out of him centuries ago. He sat on his hands on the plastic cot. “I’m Dr. David,” he said, with a smile that didn’t make sense with the planes of his face. “And your name is?”

Elias felt his blood pressure spike. They didn’t do this every day, but at least half the time, and he rarely seemed to guess correctly how Dr. David wanted him to respond.

No, that wasn’t right. If Dr. David was introducing himself, then this was the first time they were meeting, and Elias must have hallucinated the other times. Or was he lying about having hallucinations, and so used to lying that he had convinced himself?

Elias decided to go along with what appeared to be reality right now. “Elias,” he guessed.

Dr. David _tsk_ ed. “No, I don’t believe that’s right,” he said, not unkindly. “Not unless that’s some strange new way of pronouncing _‘Richard.’”_ He laughed, a mirthless chuckle that went on for far too long.

Elias didn’t like the idea that his name was Richard. It wasn’t a bad name, but it felt like when your parents won’t stop calling you some childhood nickname that no longer fit who you are now. He decided to play along, but allow himself the infinitesimal rebellion of thinking of himself as Elias. He liked that name. He thought it suited the way he looked.

Maybe he was wrong about that, though. He hadn’t seen a mirror that didn’t show a distorted reflection in a long time, and he seemed to be wrong about everything else these days.

How many days had he been here?

“I’m sorry, Dr. David,” said Elias, hoping to appease him. “I must not have been thinking clearly. I’m Richard.”

Dr. David sat on the chair that was bolted to the floor in front of Elias. He dropped a little black medical bag under it, and his smile broadened impossibly. “A little liar is what you are,” he said, _“Elias._ And you know we’ve met many times.”

 _That—that’s not fair,_ Elias thought, his heart pounding, but he wisely said nothing.

Dr. David leaned over and grabbed Elias by the hips, yanking him forward so that he was barely sitting on the bed and their knees touched. “This secrecy about your identity correlates precisely with your issues of aloofness and self-isolating,” he said, sounding concerned. Dr. David rubbed Elias’s exposed thighs, his thumbs trailing inside. His fingernails were sharp, and they threatened the smooth sensitive skin there. “I can’t help you if you refuse to let me in.”

“Yes, Dr. David,” said Elias. “Please don’t give up on me, sir,” he said, voice wavering. Elias knew what it was like to be left alone in that room for extended periods of time when Dr. David was unhappy with his progress, or lack thereof.

Dr. David’s smile was almost human for a second, and Elias felt a pang of loss, reminded of someone who must have existed once if Elias remembered things about him. Elias hoped he existed, anyway. Dr. David smacked Elias’s hip, encouraging him to swing his feet up on the bed and lie down. Dr. David joined him, planting his knees between Elias’s legs. He hitched Elias’s crinkly gown all the way up past his chest, and Elias shivered. Dr. David dragged Elias closer so that his thighs wrapped around his slim waist, and he held him there while he ground his hard-on through his trousers into Elias’s heat.

“Please don’t leave me alone again,” Elias said shakily.

“No, I don’t think I will today,” Dr. David reassured him, punctuating his words with a jarring thrust. Elias felt himself hardening, and he turned his face away in humiliation, inhaling sharply when Dr. David gave his cock a brutal slap. “Tell me something, Elias,” said Dr. David, “do you know why we do this experimental therapy?”

Elias shook his head, still looking at the wall.

“Of course you don’t,” Dr. David said affectionately. “You’re not exactly a Rhodes Scholar. But as a dedicated professional, I think it’s important that I at least try to educate you, even when I know you won’t retain any of it.” He pinched Elias’s nipples roughly for emphasis, and Elias arched his back with a noisy huff.

“So,” Dr. David continued, “there are two main reasons why I take such a hands-on approach with you.” He dug his nails into either side of Elias’s ribcage and dragged them down what had once been flawless skin. Elias rumbled low in his throat, trying to shrink from the pressure but having no place to go. “First,” he said, “so many of your anxieties, including this juvenile phobia of going in to surgery, stem from your almost Freudian fear of being raped.” Elias flinched at the hardness of the word. “Now, I read all your files. And I am not about to entertain any of the stories you concocted about your past. But what I am willing to do,” Dr. David purred, “is help to normalize a healthy sex life for you.”

“Thank you, Dr. David,” Elias muttered, blinking back tears.

“And the second reason is,” Dr. David slipped two fingers into Elias’s mouth, which he sucked obediently as he knew was expected, “therapy is most successful when you allow the patient to creatively express their strengths.” Dr. David hooked his fingers over Elias’s bottom teeth and turned his jaw to face him, forcing him to make eye contact. “And as far as I can tell, this is the only thing you’re good at.”

Dr. David released him, slipping his spit-soaked fingers between Elias’s legs. “You may touch me,” he said.

Elias nodded nervously, begging to please, and reached cautiously for Dr. David’s hips. He gasped when Dr. David found his unprepared entrance and curved his fingers into him, not too fast but not pausing for him to adjust, either.

“I’m so good to you,” Dr. David cooed, cupping Elias’s cheek while he began to fuck him on his hand in earnest, withdrawing completely each time before ramming himself back in to the knuckles. Elias panted into Dr. David’s hand. “It’s so much more than you deserve.” He shoved a third finger in without warning, and Elias moaned.

Dr. David bent down, nudging noses like a lover. “Can I fuck you, Jonah?” he asked softly.

Oh, Elias knew this part.

Elias was getting fucked.

Elias knew he couldn’t really say “no.” Dr. David was just asking him if he would have to force him. And Elias wasn’t afraid of the pain, if Dr. David wanted to be forceful, then that was just fine by him.

But if Dr. David asked Elias if he could fuck him, and Elias said no, and Dr. David fucked him anyway, that meant Elias was a victim.

And Jonah Magnus was no victim.

For a split-second, Elias felt like his old self again (whoever that had been), and he surprised himself with the sultry voice that spilled out of him. _“Please,”_ he whispered, licking at Dr. David’s mouth, who hummed appreciatively. “Please fuck me, Doctor,” he said, “I _need_ to get fucked.”

Dr. David dropped his tone to match Elias’s, and his breath ghosted across his lips, words like honeyed poison. “You do, don’t you,” he murmured. It wasn’t a question. He was still stretching Elias out, utterly endeared when a fourth finger breached him without any resistance. “You know,” he said fondly, “I’m really looking forward to when they Blind you completely.” He pressed kisses to the shell of Elias’s ear. “You’re such a half-brainless whore already. I can’t believe you thought you had any power in this world, Magnus.”

And then Dr. David did something he never did with Elias before, which is to say, he kissed him, _really_ kissed him, tasting him deeply and mockingly sweet.

Maybe the egomaniacal king lying in wait under the depths of Elias’s damaged exterior just couldn’t abide those words. Maybe the kiss helped, making Elias feel less like an object and therefore stronger for an instant. Whatever the reason, despite being wounded and blindfolded by The Stranger and pinned by The Spiral, Elias remembered his eyes and fought fiercely to open them. Fresh blood, and black ichor from someplace deeper than blood, and gold light poured out along the edges of Elias’s metal trappings.

Hysterical and rabid, Elias shoved Dr. David off of his chest and wildly met his eyes, Seeing just long enough to associate a face.

 _“Jon!”_ Elias shouted. “Oh, _thank god,_ it’s really you, you came and they said you wouldn’t come but I _made_ you and I waited and I knew you’d come and I’m cut off from Beholding but _**you Saw me and you came—”**_

Dr. David tore his hand out of Elias and backhanded him so that the resulting crunch echoed in Elias’s skull. He stood up. “You worthless slut!” he seethed. “You’re so fucked-out that you can’t even keep track of whose dick you’re on when you call out their name!”

Elias leapt off the bed and bolted for the door, realizing with despair as soon as he touched it that of course it wouldn’t open for him. He wondered why Dr. David was ignoring him to walk back to the chair, and before he could remember the medical bag, Dr. David slammed a syringe into his deltoid. Elias’s legs gave out, leaving him boneless and enchanted with all the colors of The Spiral.

Dr. David punched the button by the door for the alarm and dropped down on one knee. He smoothed his hair back, regaining his usual composure. “You are very stupid, you know that?” he said calmly to Elias’s crumpled body on the floor. Elias’s head rolled on his neck drunkenly, no reply. Dr. David stood as a team of orderlies arrived to hurl Elias onto a stretcher, and Dr. David accompanied them into the hall.

The trip to the operating theater took too long. It didn’t take long at all. The hallway continued on forever, it curved endlessly. It refused to stay the same color, and the harder Elias tried to comprehend what he was seeing, the more he felt like there were pins and needles resting on the surface of his eyes. The hallway was a bile-yellow Ganzfeld experiment. It was a kaleidoscope, but only of colors that cut your fingers.

The orderlies dumped Elias unceremoniously on the floor of the operating room and left Dr. David and him. There were massive iron chains hanging from the ceiling, attached to pulleys, and Dr. David seemed to be comparing them. He sung a little tune to himself that sounded like a toothache, and then he selected shackles for Elias’s wrists and hoisted him to his feet.

Dr. David wheeled over a tray of implements, and Elias made a helpless sound when he wrapped an arm around his waist and drew him flush against his body. He ran his fingers through Elias’s hair and held his chin, and Elias let out a sob before he nuzzled his hand in confusion. His lids half-dropped dreamily, and he seemed to feel safer once his open mouth was rested on the heel of Dr. David’s palm.

“You have to understand, I’m not mad at you,” said Dr. David quietly. “You can’t help being what you are. You Eye people are all the same.” Dr. David chucked Elias’s chin to make him meet his gaze. “But _I’m_ actually interested in keeping you. Nobody else is ever going to want you—they hate you, because you stole all this for the Watcher.” Elias groaned, barely audible. “No, he’s not coming,” said Dr. David, in a sympathetic tone. “And the funny thing is … if he did come, it would be to kill you.” Dr. David swiped his thumb over the tears staining Elias’s cheeks.

Dr. David took a moment to admire Elias hanging there, stupid and defenseless and pretty. He slowly tore away the remains that had been Elias’s medical gown, tracing the metal plates riveted all over his body with his finger. He picked up a speculum off the medical tray, clacking the three steel blades together. “I never get to play with anything like this over in behavioral,” he said affably.

 _“Hn,”_ Elias said, with a tiny shake of his head.

“It’s okay,” Dr. David soothed, “I’ve got you.”

Dr. David stood behind Elias, sliding his hands up and over his flanks. “You have such nice hips for a man,” he said idly. “Look at these curvy handles. No wonder you’ve spent so much of your life getting bent over.” Dr. David placed a hand on Elias’s shoulder and spat on his ass, hitting that sweet spot where the dimpled small of his back met the cleft, then took one long finger and started to smear it down around his hole. He curled his fingers up into him easily, and Elias, on his tiptoes, rocked back almost imperceptibly with a whimper.

“Look at that,” Dr. David breathed reverently. He kissed the back of Elias’s neck, rewarding the behavior. “You know,” he said, “I don’t always care for Dr. Doe’s people, but they really had the right idea for you. You’ll be so much happier when you don’t Know.” Dr. David wrapped his fingers around Elias’s throat to hold him in place, then picked up the speculum and started to prod Elias’s rim with the tip. “How does a dumb cock sheath like you end up picking a patron that’s all about knowledge, anyway?”

The instrument penetrated Elias’s drugged body quickly, even if Elias was whining like an animal until Dr. David finished wiggling him onto the hilt. He became docile again when Dr. David reached around and started to roll his thumb over the head of his prick, spreading the slick that was already beading at the slit. Elias cried out, though, when Dr. David started to crank the blades of the speculum open, degree by degree.

“Good boy,” Dr. David said, running his finger around the bright pink walls of Elias’s abused asshole. Elias’s chest heaved with a shudder, and Dr. David reached into Elias’s mouth almost absently to pet his taste onto his tongue.

Dr. David returned to the tray. Elias had softened partway when Dr. David stopped rubbing him, but he was still leaking precum. Dr. David smiled, picking up a flat-handled urethral sound and coming nose-to-nose with Elias so that he could watch his face. As the cool metal glided past the entrance and into the meat that was Elias’s cock, Elias’s jaw dropped, and his pupils blew wide.

As the thin handle of the sound settled over Elias’s slit, the door to the operating theater creaked open.

“Oh, dear,” said Dr. Doe, “are we interrupting your session?”

“Hello, Doctor,” said Dr. David amiably, pumping Elias’s cock as it stiffened around the sound. “My apologies—it would appear more that I am interfering with scheduled surgery.”

Dr. Doe’s team of surgeons shuffled about the room like the undead, largely disinterested in Elias writhing in his shackles, drugged and fucked out of his mind. They set about their pointless business, snapping on loads of unnecessary layers of rubber gloves and masks.

“Never at all, Dr. David!” Dr. Doe’s smile curved past the confines of her own sticky-red mask. “You are always welcome to stay!” Dr. Doe dumped a large collection of pliers onto the countertop, humming over them and holding each one up to the sickly green light of the room.

Dr. David grabbed a fistful of hair at the nape of Elias’s neck and jerked his head back as he continued stroking him off, eliciting a round of dramatic moaning. “Would it distract you terribly if I continued my work alongside you?” Dr. David asked courteously.

“On the contrary,” Dr. Doe bubbled, “I believe that would be highly anti-therapeutic.” She gave Dr. David a friendly wink. “Besides,” she said, “I know you’ve grown attached to this one.”

Dr. David laughed like a nightmare. “Guilty as charged, I suppose,” he said. “Thank you as always for being so amenable.” He released Elias’s hair to switch up the angle of the sound, twisting his fist up and down Elias’s cock while giving the implement a jiggle. Elias _keened._

“Ooh, that was a nice one,” Dr. Doe remarked pleasantly.

“Does that hurt?” Dr. David asked Elias, leaning in to mutter the words directly onto his lips.

Dr. Doe stood behind Elias, holding the rustiest pair of pliers and feeling past his shoulder to poke at one of the metal plates on his chest.

Elias stared, dazed and unsure. Then he shook his head.

Dr. David smirked. “Does it feel good?” he prompted.

After a slight pause, Elias nodded.

Dr. Doe reached over Elias’s shoulder to scrape the edge of the pliers beneath one corner of the plate.

Dr. David laid his cheek on Elias’s to whisper directly in his ear. “That’s because it’s really just another hole,” he growled. “And that’s all you are, Jonah: just a life support system for a series of holes.”

There was a stomach-churning sound and a burst of blood and shredded muscle, as Dr. Doe tore off the first plate.

An eye blinked rapidly into view, flushing itself of rancid ichor.

_And Elias’s Sight flooded in._

_“You bastard!”_ he screeched, launching himself forward on his chains and catching Dr. David’s ear between his teeth. Dr. David stumbled back with a shriek, clamping his hand over his earlobe to try and stop the flow of blood that gushed from between his fingers.

Another plate pried, another strip of flesh … another mark of the Watcher freed …

“You’re _dead!”_ Elias howled in agony, thrashing violently. “All of you! I, I—” Elias’s eyes shone gold for the first time in ages as he gazed upon Dr. David, the air crackling with Beholding. “I _See_ you,” he shouted, “I _Know_ how The Spiral claimed you, _I Know what you did, **do you want to Know how they fe**_ **—HNN!!”**

Dr. Doe rammed the dental gag in place, adjusting it impossibly wide.

“That’s quite enough of that,” said Dr. Doe.

Elias screamed for a very long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💔
> 
> Thank you for reading.

The Archivist was a monster, let there be no doubt about that.

That wasn’t a judgment, but it was an important detail.

Jonathan Sims was weighing his options. He Knew Elias was not back in his tower, because Elias wasn’t in a total blindspot. That said, he could not See every aspect of the domain where Elias was, either. There was no fog to obscure his view, like when Martin got lost in a house of The Lonely, but the Strangeness was even harder to cut.

He was weighing his options, and he was trying to make the human side of himself remain calm.

What Jon knew, with a lowercase _“k,”_ that pertained to choosing a course of action, was the following:

First, Elias never made it out of the hospital. Jon hadn’t meant to Know that, but that didn’t change the fact that he knew now.

Secondly, that Elias—Jonah—was a despicable monster, and Jon was sure he was supposed to hate him, and likely kill him.

Third, he loved Martin, and Martin would probably never accept going back for Elias under any circumstances, _except_ to kill him.

What Jon _Knew_ was this:

One, that Jonah—Elias—created the Archivist, and even though it had been an unforgivably evil act by any human metric of morality, the Archivist became more real every passing moment … and what hurt the most was knowing it, and knowing how powerful and amazing that felt.

Two … Jon _didn’t_ hate him for that.

And the third thing on the list of what Jon Knew was probably the most important: Jon Knew Elias.

It would be nice to say here that what that meant was that Jon Knew everyone, the way only a god can, and so he empathized with motivations which were human in origin too well. It would be nice to say that the reason he didn’t hate Elias was because Jon had Seen every casual cruelty Elias ever committed, but also, every deliberate kindness, every hope, every fear. And that was true, and it did increase affection, but it was also true of any avatar and victim in the ruined world, and obviously Jon wasn’t running around trying to save them all.

Jon Knew Elias because Jonah and his Archivist had both been dedicated to Beholding, regardless of how they felt about it; and that meant there was a constant instinct rippling through Jon, a Call to his mentor and maker’s side, to join with him and rule the ruler.

That didn’t mean that no part of Jon was fighting that instinct, nor did it mean that Jon was incapable of killing Elias to try to restore the world. But it did mean that Jon had a critical reaction to certain things, triggers which would undoubtedly unchain the Archivist like a lioness defending her cub.

His _eyes._

They were trying to take Elias’s _eyes._

Jon’s insides boiled. How dare they, these lesser animals of lesser patrons, these underfoot ants, how _dare_ they insult the Ceaseless Watcher in such a visceral way. All rights to Elias’s life were his, Elias belonged to him, to love and to destroy, not The goddamn Stranger, the actual antithesis of The Eye.

Jon would never murder Elias in such a disrespectful way.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Martin asked. “Well,” he said wryly, “if pennies were still worth anything.”

Jon might have made a crack about how pennies weren’t worth anything before the Change, either, but he was completely in his head. They had to go to the hospital. The only matter was, how much of that to explain to Martin. He had withheld information from Martin before, when it had seemed important to do so, right?

Jon stopped walking. “Martin,” he said, “you know I love you, right?”

“Jon,” Martin said soberly, “literally no good conversation, in the history of the world or the apocalypse, has ever started like that. What’s wrong?”

“We need to go back to the hospital,” Jon said. “Right now.”

“What??” Martin shook his head incredulously. “You want to go in the opposite direction of London, why?—to ask the surgeons how their evil residencies are going?”

This was it, Jon figured, moment of truth. This was the part where he could actually lose Martin if he said the wrong thing, yet he was still taking that risk. _Just say it,_ he thought. _Don’t be a liar on top of being a monster._ “Elias—Jonah is in there,” he said.

“Well, that—that’s brilliant!” said Martin excitedly. “So, no place of power? He’s already weaker then?”

“Yes,” Jon said sullenly. “He is weaker.”

Martin looked at Jon askance. “Oh, no,” he said. “What is it? Don’t tell me he has some scissor-handed doctor army.”

“No,” Jon said. “No army. Very much no army.”

Martin stared, waiting for an explanation.

“It’s just that,” Jon said, “I need to go in alone.”

“No,” said Martin. “Absolutely not. I can’t let you do that.”

“I need to,” said Jon.

“And you Know that?” Martin questioned.

Jon made a noncommittal sound. “It’s just that,” he said, “I don’t know what kind of shape he’s going to be in.”

“‘What kind of shape,’” Martin repeated flatly.

“Mhm,” Jon mumbled.

_“Jon,”_ Martin said, dragging out the name, “that almost makes this sound like a _rescue_ mission.”

“I don’t know what kind of mission it is yet, Martin,” Jon said hopelessly.

“But it involves going back to the sinister hospital, where apparently Elias is for reasons you have not said, and you may or may not be weirdly invested in checking that he’s in okay shape, but also if something bad were to happen I wouldn’t know to help because you want me to wait outside,” said Martin. “Did I miss anything?”

“That’s about the long and short of it,” said Jon.

Martin dragged his fingers through his hair.

“Martin,” Jon said, “what if I just told you that this is something I need to do, and I can’t explain it right now but _I won’t be okay if I don’t do it,_ and I just need you to trust me?”

Martin gazed into Jon’s eyes, vulnerable and open. At last, he sighed, and pulled him in for a strong hug. “Then I guess I’d just have to trust you,” he said.

Jon walked up steadily to the entrance of the hospital. He tried to radiate as much serenity as could be expected in this world. Before he pushed the heavy doors open, he turned and shot Martin a tight smile and a meaningful nod. Martin, standing away from the hospital grounds, returned the look encouragingly.

As soon as the door latched securely behind him and he was out of sight, Jon started to run.

_“Elias!”_ he shouted down the halls, not caring which “staff” heard. He still couldn’t See him. “Elias?” He stopped at every room, hating himself for the things he saw inside and the people he abandoned, but having to remain singleminded in his purpose. At times Jon skidded so fast across the bloody chipped linoleum that he had to grab onto a doorframe just so he wouldn’t skip the room. _“Elias!”_

“Inspector!” greeted Dr. Doe. She seemed genuinely surprised. “Did you lose something?” She grinned under her mask, and Jon Saw her mouth, the scooped-out cavity of meat with fingernails in place of teeth. “Or _someone?”_

_“What do you think you’re doing,”_ Jon frothed, “kidnapping an avatar of The Eye?? I ought to raze your whole domain to the ground, I should— **Where is Jonah Magnus?”** he growled.

Dr. Doe jerked under the Compulsion. “He’s in a pit,” she said in a sharp burst of air. “It really is one of the— _ugh—‘nicer’_ ones, his handler was adamant that we be careful with him, I could show you where—”

Jon immediately Knew where the pits were, and he jogged down grimy grey stairs that hadn’t been there a second ago. There wasn’t even the semblance of natural law here, steps that led to the bottom of a hole from the outside of it, ostensibly an area that should have been inside ground. He raced until he found the door that he Knew led to Elias, and despite his dread, he did not hesitate to throw it open.

Jon found himself at the bottom of a great stone oubliette, and some ugly buzzing light shone through a grate up top but didn’t reach the shadows at the bottom. A small figure was hunched over itself in the darkness, wearing a blood-spattered gown that might have once been white. Jon felt his breath hitch in his chest, and Elias’s head shot up at the sound as fearfully as if Jon had screamed into the echoing chamber.

To demonstrate his harmlessness, Jon held his palms out in front of him while he took a few steps forward. “Hey,” he said, his own heart pounding, “I’m not about to hurt you.” Elias pressed his back harder against the wall. Jon stopped. “Can I, uh … can I come closer?”

Elias stared like that was a trick question that he was puzzling out. Then he said fretfully, “Doctor, please …” He looked helpless, like he didn’t know how to finish that statement safely.

Jon kept one hand in front of him as he got down on his knees. “I’m, ah,” he said, “not a doctor. It’s …” He stopped, seeing how Elias’s eyes flew open wide and he shook his head at his words.

“Please,” Elias begged, “no games today, please, just a little more time to heal, please …”

“Elias,” Jon whispered. “It’s me … Jon.”

“You’re not,” Elias said, pulling his knees in to his chest. “He’s not coming.”

Jon’s mouth hung open. “I did! I, I …” He settled back on the balls of his feet, trying a different tactic. “I’m your Archivist,” he said. “… I’m the Archive.”

Elias stared. As gently as Jon could, he brushed against Elias with the feather-lightest tendrils of Looking. Elias did not react at all, and Jon tried not to think about the implications of that. He Saw a padded room, and rough hands, and a thing wearing—his face …

_Dr. David,_ Jon thought with disgust. He scowled, regretting it when it occurred to him that appearing angry might disturb Elias like this.

It had the opposite effect. Dr. David didn’t scowl. Dr. David only smiled like the lower half of a circular saw. Elias recognized that scowl. _“Jon!”_ he gasped. “Oh, god, Jon, it’s really you!”

“Yes,” Jon said, inching forward until he shared the floor right in front of Elias. Elias seemed to uncoil in his tension. Jon held up a hand, close enough to offer it but not touching, and Elias grabbed onto his wrist with both hands and placed Jon’s palm at the corner of his mouth. He clenched his eyes shut with a sob and rubbed his face into his hand.

“Elias,” Jon managed brokenly. He was profoundly affected to see Elias like this. Of all the things Elias Bouchard deserved, Jon had never wanted to see him this undignified.

“I’m sorry,” Elias whimpered. “I’m sorry I stopped thinking you would come.”

Jon blinked. “You really thought I’d come?”

Elias pressed his lips to Jon’s palm and held them there for a moment. Then, “I _knew_ you’d come,” he said.

Jon moved a little closer. “But why?” he asked.

Elias held Jon’s hand to his chest. He looked at Jon like the answer was obvious. “We’re the same,” he said. “We’re each other’s. The Institute’s, the Watcher’s … mine, yours.”

Jon huffed out a humorless chuckle. “You have an odd concept of family,” he snarked.

“But I was right,” Elias insisted. “I Called. _You come when I Call.”_

Jon scrubbed his face with his free hand. “I actually couldn’t Hear you from in here,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t Know sooner.”

Jon was stunned, when Elias climbed into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck to bury his face in his shoulder. “I, uh—okay. That’s okay, I guess,” he said. Elias didn’t make a sound when he cried, but Jon felt his neck grow hot and wet. It devastated him again to think that _**this**_ was Elias.

Jon settled into the embrace, half-closing his eyes and tilting his head over Elias’s. It didn’t feel as unnatural as perhaps it should have. Maybe in another life, where different choices had been made …

Jon stroked Elias’s back to soothe him through the hospital gown, then froze at what he felt. The skin was irregular and raised, and there was something … stitches? Wire?

“Elias,” Jon said carefully, “can I look at where you’re hurt? To see how bad it is?”

Elias nodded into Jon’s shoulder, and Jon gently raised the back of his gown.

Jon’s jaw dropped. He started to run his fingers through Elias’s hair, partly to hold him forward so he wouldn’t see the face he was making. Elias hummed agreeably at the touch, none the wiser.

_His eyes his eyes they carved out his eyes his they his eyes they—_

Jon’s fist closed around the paper he was holding. _They might as well have fucking lobotomized him,_ he thought in horror. Elias dropped his head down further to completely nestle beneath Jon’s chin. _He’s probably only even_ this _functional because he’s practically_ inside _the Archive._ Jon wrapped both his arms around Elias, careful not to put pressure on his wounds, and he trembled with rage.

“Jon?” Elias said, sounding scared again. “You’re shaking. Did I do something wrong?”

“It’s not you,” Jon said breathily, “you didn’t do—” _Heh,_ Jon thought, deciding he absolutely would not lie to this man. _“You didn’t deserve this,”_ he said instead.

Elias pulled back, eyes searching Jon’s face. “Please,” he said tearfully, “I know I’ve done awful things, but please—don’t leave me with them.”

Jon tucked a strand of hair behind Elias’s ear. “They’re going to die painful deaths,” he said pleasantly. “Would you like that?” _A gift from one acolyte to another._

Elias nodded shyly, and Jon almost wanted to laugh.

_I’m so sorry, Elias,_ Jon thought. _It never should have ended like this._

Suddenly, Elias leaned in and caught Jon’s mouth with a kiss.

“Oh!” said Jon, drawing back minutely. He supposed that shouldn’t have surprised him, but if anyone could still catch him off-guard in this world, naturally it would be Jonah Magnus. “Uhh,” he said nervously, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I always wanted to,” Elias murmured, tilting his head and speaking onto Jon’s lips, and for that moment Jon was back in Elias’s office, maybe four years ago, thinking about Elias’s voice and wondering how he might taste.

Now, Jon gave a chaste kiss to the spot between Elias’s eyes, then dropped his head to rest their foreheads together. “In that case, thank you,” he said in a hushed tone, running his thumbs over Elias’s cheekbones. Elias practically purred.

“Can we go now?” Elias pleaded.

Jon strangled a heartsick whine before it could leave his lips. “Don’t worry,” he said, “soon you won’t be here anymore.”

“Oh, Jon,” Elias muttered, “will you come home at last? You could rule, be with me … my Archive. That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

Jon rubbed little circles on Elias’s temples, curling his hair around his fingers. “Elias,” he said, “I _swear_ to you, I am going to stay with you until the very end.”

“Oh, thank god,” Elias inhaled, “oh, finally. Thank you, Jon. Thank you …”

Jon tasted tears in the back of his throat. “I have to do something to get you out of here, though, Elias,” he said. “I _have_ to do it because of how injured you are. But it’s going to hurt for a minute, okay?”

“Only until it doesn’t, though, right?” Elias said with a childlike smile.

Jon loathed himself.

“That’s right, Elias,” he choked. “Only until it doesn’t. I’ll hold you through it if you want.”

Elias slotted himself against Jon’s chest, melting into his arms. “Whatever you need to do, Jon,” he said. “You’ve always been the only one I trust.”

Jon didn’t notice how he rocked Elias back and forth—or how every one of his eyes wept.

**“Ceaseless Watcher,”** he intoned softly, _**“turn your gaze upon this perfect monster …”**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)
> 
> For the curious, here is the rest of Elias's rites:
> 
> _Ceaseless Watcher, turn your gaze upon this perfect monster, Architect of the Archive made Sightless lamb. See it for who it once was and let it be no more. Take him back._
> 
> **(Update)** [dundee998 gifted me some beautiful fanart of this chapter](https://bastard-men-prefer-jon.tumblr.com/post/633373627820228608/omg-guys-i-know-i-said-i-was-on-hiatus-but-that)!


End file.
